Every Step That You Take
by dwennie
Summary: Had your situations been reversed, you're almost sure you wouldn't have been able to get Deeks out alive. Set after 2x10 Deliverance, sort of K/D.


**Inspiration struck. You know those times when you get a line you really like in your head and you just HAVE to write a fic about it? Yup, that's what happened. By the way, thank you so much for your awesome support with Caught in a Lie. I truly appreciate it. Hopefully you'll like this one as much, if not more!**

**Disclaimer: yeah, right.**

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You've been tossing and turning for hours when you give up on sleep and make yourself tea. You throw on your warmest slippers and bath robe for good measure, and when you take at seat at the counter, the tea isn't the only thing that's stewing. You frown. You should have ridden out the adrenaline hours ago. Close encounters with your mortality are old news to you, and sometimes you think you should add flirting with death to your list of bad habits. But something's different about this time, and it's taken you until now to realize what it is.

Since you were taken by the Russians, Deeks was left in charge of getting you back. That on its own isn't the problem; you understood the risks of being a playing chip when you walked into their hands. You do somewhat resent having to be saved, but you can justify that when you take the situation into account. You don't even care that it was _Deeks_ that came to your rescue. He is, after all, a capable agent (_not_ that you'd ever tell him).

No. What's keeping you up is different. Had your situations been reversed, you're almost sure you wouldn't have been able to get Deeks out alive.

You have a large skill set that you've fully embraced (not many people, or agents for that matter, can claim to have hotwired an airplane), but the hole you recently discovered is bothering you more and more. You pride yourself on your ability to take of your team as well as yourself, and you don't take well to weaknesses (especially if they're your own).

The tea you've been more or less drinking isn't helping you relax, so you throw back the lukewarm remains and head back to your room. You tie up your hair, throw on leggings and a tank, and hope that a 1 a.m. run will do what tea couldn't.

The steady beat of footsteps on pavement in the otherwise silent night has an instant calming effect, but like all good things, it's short lived. Your slow jog turns into a steady run and that in turn becomes a flat out sprint. You're not sure how long you keep running, but you embrace the ache in your legs, the burn in your lungs and the stitch in your side. They distract you for just long enough.

You're not sure how long it's been when you stop, but you're out of breath and covered in a thin sheen of sweat. You take a moment to get your bearings, and that's when you realize where you are (you take a moment to appreciate how clichéd it is before scowling in annoyance). You're standing outside Deeks' place.

You're just about to turn around and find a way back to your apartment when an ever present but usually ignored part of your mind pushes you back towards the door. When you knock on the door, your brain seems to have gone on vacation and you're running on autopilot. It's not until you've been waiting for longer than normal that you realize he's probably asleep. You've just taken control of your body again when you hear a lock click and the door slowly opens to reveal a wary-looking Deeks, one hand grasping what is without a doubt his gun behind his back. Your eyes widen slightly and you take a hasty step back.

"Kensi?" he queries, surprise lacing his tone.

"What are you doing up?"

Deeks raises an eyebrow and releases his grip on his gun. "You, uh, knocked on _my_ door," he points out.

You grimace slightly, uncomfortable. "Sorry," you say sheepishly. "I should get going, I guess I'll see you tomorr—I mean later today."

You're halfway down the hall when he calls you back. "Wait, Kensi. Come in for a while."

By now, you're wishing you had never left your house, but you can't leave a partner hanging so you shuffle back to Deeks' door a little reluctantly. You know he can feel the discomfort as acutely as you, but you have no idea how to break the ice.

"So," he gestures to your clothes. "Late night run, huh? Can't say I've ever tried it…or running at all for that matter."

Your lips twitch up at his obvious attempt to restore their usual banter. "It shows," you quip, and for a moment the tension is broken. "I needed to, um, burn off some steam," you answer his partially asked question.

He nods. You share a quick glance, and the two of you move to his couch. You notice his TV is on, playing some old black and white rerun on mute. You sit in silence for a few minutes.

"Why aren't you asleep?" you ask again, actually curious this time.

He shrugs, a sheepish smile on his face. "Couldn't. You know how it is," he says pointedly.

Your lips twitch again, and you nod. He doesn't ask you why you're here, and you figure either he already knows or he's got a damn good idea why, because it's not like Deeks to let things go. The silence drags on, and you break eye contact and fiddle with your hands instead. It's not comfortable, nor is it awkward, but the air feels as thick as butter.

When you feel like you might suffocate if you don't break the silence, you ask, "Did I ever thank you? Properly?"

He glances at you, sizes you up. "Properly? I guess not. It's not—I mean—you don't have to."

You ignore his last words. "Thank you," you say sincerely. "I don't know where you got that trick from, but it," you pause and search for the right words, "it was…something else."

It's not at all close to what you meant, and you know he can tell. He lets the matter slide (for once), but you're pretty sure he knows you're more grateful than you're willing (or able) to say.

"Well," he says, and suddenly he looks uncomfortable, "I saw it on CSI once."

For a moment you raise your eyebrows incredulously, but the sheepish look on his face is so ridiculous you have to laugh.

"Really? My life is on the line and you go with something from _CSI_?"

"I looked it up after the show," he says, slightly defensively. "Besides, I didn't have many options."

"Tell you the truth, I never could've pulled something like that off," you say, giving him rare praise, and the mood changes again.

It was meant to be said lightly, almost jokingly (but your praise was always meant to be sincere), but your voice catches twice and you shut your eyes in frustration. You saw him suddenly straighten up in his seat, and you know he caught your slip. There's a pause.

"Is that why you're here?" he asks in a strange voice.

You consider denying it for a moment, but his question is more like a statement and lying to your partner never ends well. Besides, talking about your problems is a cathartic experience you don't get often enough.

"I'm not sure," you say honestly, "but it probably is."

"I don't suppose me telling you you're an incredible agent who can probably beat me at anything and save me ass any day of the week will help?"

You let out a short laugh, but when you see the uncharacteristic seriousness in his expression, you start fidgeting again.

"I just want to keep my team safe," you almost whisper.

"You always do," he says just as quietly.

You try to smile, but it ends up more like a grimace. "Not always."

"Nobody's perfect, Kenz."

You note the use of your nickname, and file it away for now. "Doesn't stop us from trying."

He smiles sadly, and you know it that moment he gets you, more than Callen or Sam or even Hetty. Then you remember that he lost a partner too, and you feel a sudden rush of guilt for unloading on him.

"Sorry," you whisper quickly.

His face creases in confusion. "What for?"

"This isn't your problem, you shouldn't have to deal with this. I'll just—"

"Hey, we're partners, Kensi. It's what we do."

"Thanks," you say after a moment, feeling like you owe him for what feels like the thousandth time tonight.

"Anytime," he says seriously. "Come on, it's late and we really should get to bed. I'll get you some clothes and I'll sleep on the couch."

"Oh, no, Deeks, I couldn't…"

"It's called chivalry," he smirks. "I hear it's popular with the ladies nowadays."

You roll your eyes, but you don't protest again. You don't thank him, but the two of you have reached the point where it's no longer necessary. You realize that you trust him more than you ever thought you would, almost as much as the rest of the team, and all they have on Deeks now is experience. You should tell Sam he can stop worrying about trust issues, you think wryly.

You're about to close the door when you turn around, and, almost as an afterthought, press a quick kiss to Deeks' cheek. It's not something you do often, but you want to thank him and frankly, words wouldn't have been good enough. If you feel something (which you're pretty sure you do), you write it off as the exhaustion getting to you.

Deeks tries and fails to hide his surprise. "Good night, Kensi."

You smile, your first true one of the night. "Night, Deeks."

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**Fin**

**Thanks for reading! :)  
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